


Baptism for Blood

by Wanderlust_Novadust



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Blood, Culty bullshit, Drug Withdrawal, Drug withdrawl, Drugs, Explicit Just in Case, Feeding, Hand Feeding, Jacob and Faith are just mentioned so, Joseph is alluded to in any case, Kidnapping, Kind of abrupt ending sorry, Knifeplay, M/M, Neo Pronouns, Neo-pronouns, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nounself Pronouns, Religious Bullshit, Scarification, Sexual But They Don't Really Fuck So, Starvation, Zach's my self insertttt, bliss, canon x self insert, knife, self insert x canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlust_Novadust/pseuds/Wanderlust_Novadust
Summary: Zacharie's options were get some cool scars, or assuredly die. It was a nice bonus that ters captor was cute, but... It wasn't a hard decision.
Relationships: John Seed/Self Insert, John Seed/Self-Insert
Kudos: 2





	Baptism for Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, I found this draft while looking through my fanfic folder and decided to post it! Hope you enjoy!

“Now then,” John Seed began.

The man looked up from ters kneeling position on the ground with a shake to the movement. Blood was trailing from ters nose, and jes figured John knew that jes’d be fuzzy headed yet another hour or so at least from the Bliss. Despite this, jes tried to pay attention.

“It was a lot of work convincing Jacob to hand you to me… But you seemed in need.”

“In need,” the handcuffed man asked in a graveling whisper.

“In need,” John repeated affirmatively. He crouched down into a squat, heels planted steadily on the ground. John reached out a hand, taking the bound one by the chin and lifting ters face up to maintain the eye contact he’d discovered to be ever wavering. 

“You were going to die at the rate he had you going,” John elaborated. “You are worth much more than that, aren’t you? Not just fried chicken or rabbit stew… You’re too…”

Whatever the thought was, it was lost in the silent moments behind John’s trailing religious rambling. There was coherent thought swimming around the wounded man’s head, and it was that jes should be prepared for a lot of talk of saving this and saving that. Not as though jes hadn’t grown used to it, but growing used to something and becoming fond of it were two very separate things. No matter how much jes’d admired John from afar—the rebellion had a point. Most likely.

“Even if you would be hard to cleanse or redeem from your sin—you are too good a man to waste.”

“If you say so,” jes muttered even quieter this time.

John hummed before clicking his tongue and standing back up, releasing ters face in the process. He roamed around the room a moment, giving jes more time to scan it over. Between torture implements, blood stains, and taxidermy: jes found jestself shocked that John wasn’t the one making apparent ‘rabbit stew’ out of ter.

He came back ‘round, attracting ters gaze a few hanging seconds late. When John squat back down, jes collected what was going on. Jes pulled some at the cuffs, finding they were around a pole… John chuckled a bit at the struggle.

“Not a fan of being fed by hand?”

“Not particularly.”

John unwrapped what jes assumed to be some sort of protein or breakfast bar. The world was too fuzzy to begin to coherently read the package, and as words were pulled out of view in favor of shiny, silver internal packaging—jes had to stop caring about which and just hope John was actually going to feed ter.

“Open wide, now.”

John did as promised. The wounded man barely opening ters mouth at first, and John looked more concerned than annoyed for a moment. Scolding ter quietly (and in words jes didn’t catch beyond tone,) John reached out and took ter by the chin again, pulling somewhat gently for ter to open ters mouth wider. Having gotten the message, jes didn’t pitch a fight.

The first bite was less bland than expected, though that could’ve been the Bliss. Whatever it was, it tasted like nuts and some healthy variety of chocolate. There was something else chewy in the mix; it reminded jes of caramel, but the taste wasn’t quite the same? Saltier, jes thought, though ‘salted caramel’ is a thing.

“You seem to be enjoying it,” John said as the man quickly swallowed and eagerly opened ters mouth again.

Jes ignored the remark, waiting for John to hold the bar out before nipping off a much bigger portion of it this time. Side effects of the Bliss or not, jes was enjoying the food hitting ters aching stomach as much as jes could feel the messy amalgam that ters brain registered as ters digestive tract trying to stir in heavy rolls, like the toiled way a witch stirs a cauldron in animated movies. The nausea was languid knife waves compared to the relief.

“Taste that good,” John asked as he held out the bar a third time. “Or was Jacob starving you?”

There was hesitance. “If it makes you feel better, starved or not, this tastes fine.”

“So he was starving you,” John mumbled to himself. Another bite taken, only leaving a small portion of the bar held in shiny wrappers and that strong looking hand.

After swallowing, the man answered, “He mentioned something about the strong and the weak, but I had stopped paying attention.”

“He was planning to make a cannibal of you,” John said with a tired and blunt tone to the phrase. “It’s common practice for him.”

“I see,” jes mumbled before coughing lightly.

John held out the last piece, letting the wounded one take it before getting up a second time. Upon returning, John crouched and opened up a nice, black, metal water bottle. There was no straw or anything, but a large, gaping hole that just led directly to the cold water.

“Was he not giving you water either,” John asked, wincing at the idea of handing over perfectly redeemable people to such practices.

“Not often,” jes muttered, hoping that jes wouldn’t have to drink from cupped hands (or anything as equally demeaning.)

Jes hopes were met by John cupping ters chin for the third or fourth time, holding it up gently as John mumbled rather comfortingly for ter to drink. He was shockingly attentive to the rhythm of swallows, when jes needed more air, but it took putting up some struggle before John realized that the man had enough to drink. John set the bottle aside after screwing the lid back on, chuckling softly.

“Ah, sorry. I hope I didn’t drown you.”

John moved away again, not returning nearly so quickly this time. Jes didn’t bother responding, just picking up ters head gently after a moment to track where John was off to this time. He unwrapped a bar for himself of most likely the same thing, standing in front of a table with a big, wooden board of tools hung up. 

He reached up, hand grazing gently over the tools—as though considering his options. Much to the handcuffed man’s delight, he didn’t linger very long at all on things like hammers, but John was particularly interested in sharp objects, it seemed.

None of them were anything akin to clippers or scissors, but all sharp and very capable of doing damage. Knives meant for combat, cooking—jes was sure that if jes got the chance to get up and look around, jes’d find an entire kitchen in one of those drawers. The ones like butcher’s knives and smaller cooking ones felt like teases for show, but the cleaver and meat hooks felt very much like real things that could be thrown at jes today.

Nothing was as bad as listening to that music box and feeling emptier and emptier each day.

This was all negated as John’s hand moved from an out of place feeling tattoo gun back to the combat knife. He took it carefully, seeming to look over the sheen of the blade before taking another chunk off of what might’ve actually been one of his meals, if jes’s mental spit balling as to if it was morning, afternoon, or evening was right.

John slowly came over, jes watching as he strode over in an almost predatory manner. It reminded the man handcuffed to a metal pole of a wolf, perhaps because of how many jes had seen while kept in a cage by Jacob. Some large animal, pacing around what was in comparison a small, trapped, delicious, white rabbit.

He crouched back down, taking a third and final bite and letting the wrapper hit the ground. The joke about littering in one’s own home fell silent in the captive man’s throat, watching John fiddle with the knife as he seemed to be arranging his words.

“You could be redeemed. I could easily save you, and then the others couldn’t touch you. No more unwanted Bliss, no more starvation, no more of it all.”

“What you’re offering is too good to be true,” the captive replied.

“Do you think my men are picked off by Jacob? Do you think Joseph’s men prey upon Faith’s, and would you claim that I torture my own men?”

There was certainly no evidence to back each claim, and even the rebellion could say that there was evidence contrary to each imaginary point John had dangled before the white rabbit’s face. The man shook ters head in the negative, which earned a head nod or two from John before he continued.

“You wouldn’t have to work under me, but I don’t see you being too fond of the others.”

He was right about one thing.

“You could even be a civilian if I couldn’t convince you to put your skills to use under me.”

As though a civilian’s life would satisfy ter.

“All you need to do is atone.”

“How do I do that,” jes asked after a moment’s hesitation.

Excitedly, “We wear our sins.” 

“Scarification,” the captive interrupted in a moment’s realization.

“Tattoos for some. Some are cut off, to set you free from what’s been leaving your soul dark and covered in shame and ooze.”

Jes had no idea how much jes bought this shit: but it meant living and not having to eat someone else just to feel like there was some control going on in a cage where two men who seemed allergic to shirts pointed and laughed. It was also better than being constantly drugged. The Bliss was supposed to be fun, but jes couldn’t seem to find the right rabbit hole to fall into. 

“You would carve it into me,” the captive tried to confirm hazily, feeling something kick in that was trying to drag ter back into the realm of nightmares and sleep.

“I would,” John stated plainly, reaching over to open the water bottle back up. He poured it all out immediately over ters head, earning stark surprise and shivering. The water was ice cold, though there was hyperbole inside the wounded captive that told ter that it was somehow “colder than ice.” It woke ter up though, and for that at least, jes would admit some gratitude.

“It’s that easy,” the captive asked, half shocked and reacting still to the water.

“It’s that easy,” John replied. “Though, we tend to show them off. We wear them, we don’t hide them.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“So you agree,” John asked, looking ecstatic as a puppy just after adoption.

“Yes, fine, yes.”

John was quick to start moving the captive around, trying to get ter comfortable while also maintaining optimum cutting position. Jes got off ters knees, which was a nice change of pace—though the floor was cold from the wasted water, and ters ass was not appreciative. The shivering and shuddering didn’t seem to detour John from trying to get the man into a position ideal for the scarification, however. Once John had managed to get the captive to sit upright with the least amount of slouching (though that took holding ter against the bar with his free hand,) John got to work.

“It’ll hurt,” John warned ter. “But most good things aren’t easy.”

“I didn’t expect you to numb me…” Ters eyes scanning around the room as John seemed to be plotting with his fingers, running them barely over skin to map letters. “It doesn’t seem like you’re thing.”

“You’d be right,” John said with a jovial giggle.

“You already know what sin to write?”

“I’ve gleaned enough, yes.”

Whatever it was, it was a short word from what the captive gleaned, eyes lingering on his still empty hand before it retracted to take the knife back up off the floor. When it came close to skin, the man flinched and shut ters eyes, trying to keep from shaking from the chill still locked into ters bones. Then cold metal met skin, and then skin broke to let it in.

The inward gasp through teeth was enough to entertain John, but he muttered something akin to “whoops” as he dug the knife in deeper than jes’d been expecting. The resulting uncoiling of whimpers from ters throat were met by the knife being removed, only for John to resume what felt like only a second split by a hair later. Jes wanted to squirm, but John seemed to anticipate it, free hand securing ter more firmly.

“Hold still for me, rabbit. You’re going to be fine.”

John’s words caused a strangled and confused sound to come from the captive, which in turn rewarded ter a growling, low laugh. The blood rushing to ters face was confusing as the way John took the time to pat ters chest gently, going back to holding the captive against the pole by it.

“It’s a short word, at least.”

Jes couldn’t tell if jes was reassured or disappointed, but jes wouldn’t question it too hard. From what jes’d gathered, he’d gotten the first stroke over one letter done, returning to the top to begin one across? No, no, from the top to the side, but going right or left—it was all too hazy and tumbled together for jes to parse any of it apart.

Ters skin felt like it was on fire, though it wasn’t a painful fire. The captive’s skin was more ‘on fire’ with a need to be given attention, but jes figured that attention would be more medical. The satisfaction came instead from the burning of being cut further, John adding new addition upon new addition—stroke after stroke until apparently halfway through.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” John said, glancing up to make eye contact. Call it left over effects of Bliss, but those baby blues made the captive’s insides melt into a sickly sweet, absolutely pink oblivion in ters chest.

“Have I,” jes asked in a hushed and strained inhale.

“Quieter than I expected,” John said before going to resume the carving process.

It was too well timed; it came out as a quiet, erotically laced whimper. The sound broke from ters throat and was muffled by tightly shut lips, but John noticed it all the same. He seemed mildly amused, readjusting his sitting position before dragging the knife painfully slow to form part of the next letter. The little squirm starting at the captive’s hips was enough to get a smirk out of John as he added another stroke to what jes figured was probably the third letter.

“I should be carving ‘lust’ into you, apparently.”

The joke was hardly malicious, though you would expect such a good, upstanding Christian to get finicky about these things—jes hadn’t. ‘Lust’ was scarred right above John’s crotch, semi-visible (with his shirt being off) and rather legible over the tops of his jeans. Wearing your sin as a badge of honor and repenting seemed to be different things: but even if just to John, atoning seemed to mean either/or.

There was more energetic squirming as John moved onto the next letter, long, upward stroke ripping blood from the cut to compliment the way ters eyes rolled up a moment. John was beyond entertained by now, using quick and small swipes to finish off that final letter while humming a casual tune. It was almost a mockery, though that might imply embarrassment.

“I’d say that’s done…” John rose with a sigh, tossing the combat knife aside before strolling off out of sight.

John returned with medical tape and a bag full of (presumably) other supplies, moving ter forward just a bit. He heard the wince, apologizing quietly before setting the bandages out of the puddle’s reach. First, he got alcohol dabbed on some cotton and started to try and clean off the wounds. 

“This will hurt,” John warned.

John had a sympathetic cringe reaction to the far less pleasurable whine and staggered inhale that the cleaning process’s beginnings got, though he was relieved to see the reactions die down significantly and quickly into things. Once cleaned up, he gingerly got to wrapping up the word with the medical tape. Head lulling low as the Bliss threatened drowsiness again, the captive finally got a look at the word.

‘Envy.’

“We’ll do other sins as they come,” John said, lifting ters head gently. “I realize now that I’ve neglected to ask your name.”

“Name?” The withdrawal was setting in, and John seemed to grow more patient as he realized. He didn’t bat an eye at the confused way the man tried to confirm what a ‘name’ was.

“Yes, your name. What I should call you?”

“Oh, name, uh…”

“Will you need a moment,” John asked softly when the man didn’t answer again in what was going on a minute.

“No, no, it’s uh… Zacharie.”

“Zacharie… I like it.”

Zacharie didn’t have the mental capacity to pick up on the flirty overtones, taking the phrase completely at face value. This left ter wondering why the hell it mattered if John liked ters name. What, did I join a religion where they make you change your name? Do you like it so much I’m excluded?

“Let’s get you somewhere you won’t hurt yourself accidentally, okay?”

“Hurt myself,” Zacharie groggily asked as John opened the handcuffs, moving them carefully before discarding care entirely and yeeting them across the room. He wouldn’t need them again (soon) anyway, and the man incoherent against a pillar in his torture bunker was of much more importance than the future him who’d be asking where the handcuffs were.

“Up, up. We’re going upstairs.”

Zacharie hummed in what was (probably) agreement, John getting Zacharie’s arm around him and trying to get ter to stand only to realize very quickly that Zacharie’s legs were about as steady as a house built on melting ice. With a sigh, John had to quickly decide how to handle this. Zacharie was thrown off balance, but quickly found jestself suspended in John’s arms. 

“Well, at least you’re as small and light as a rabbit too…”

Where the rest of that thought was, neither of them truly knew. What John knew at least was that Zacharie would be riding out the unpleasant and panic inducing withdrawal for at best: a few hours. It was far more likely that this would last a few days though, and if John and Zach were unlucky, it could last a good few weeks—or even a month.

John considered (carrying Zacharie up the stairs and into his home) that perhaps he could bargain with Faith. He didn’t know for sure if she could ease the process—but she practically controlled the Bliss, so perhaps she could. Weighing the options carefully, John found his way to a spare bedroom. 

“Here we are,” he muttered, walking across the room to the bed. The late-morning sun streaming through semi-transparent, cloth curtains was at least an indicator of time. The chirping birds were a peaceful ambiance to help soothe what Zacharie (even in these fog-filled moments) recognized as the onset of a panic attack. No, it wouldn’t stop it, even with John trying to get Zacharie comfortable for the healing process and occasionally muttering that “this was crazy” (whatever “this” is.) Nothing was stopping what the (lack of) Bliss was starting.

“John,” Zacharie whined, tucked under blankets, yet still feeling so cold.

“I’m here,” John replied, not sure if Zacharie had perhaps gone temporarily blind or thought he’d left for other such reasons.

“What the hell is going on?”

“My guess is withdrawal from Faith’s Bliss. I’ve seen it often enough.”

“I can’t feel the sting at least…” Zacharie’s hand landed over ters bandaged chest.

“That must be nice,” John chuckled out in half concern.

John headed for the door, hearing a panicked sound rip out of Zacharie. It was barely a word, just a noise: pure panic and almost animal. Nearly a whine. John turned slowly to look at the pathetic man in still somewhat wet clothes tucked into bed… 

“I’ll help you change and such when you’re back, if you can’t on your own. I just have to go for a bit, okay? I’ll send in someone to check on you soon enough, Rabbit.”

Zacharie didn’t question the nickname. Jes just nodded and accepted ters fate.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna keep up with my bullshit, you can follow me on Tumblr @wanderlust-novadust  
> If you just want my visual art, you can go to my Newgrounds Wanderlust-Novadust  
> If you like specifically my self-ship content, you can keep up with that @romanticnomadic on Tumblr


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